To You, To Me
by True China Sorrows
Summary: In the wake of his brother's death, Sasuke is lost to a world of nothing but misery, sorrow and confusion. In this endless shade and shadow his memories feel violated by the ceaseless tug and pull of his questions. What is true? What is false? What is real? Does anything matter at all?
1. I Volunteer as Saviour

To You, To Me

Beginning

~ . ~

She wraps her arms around him with a long and weary sigh. He – bleary eyed, pale as pearls, and only barely on his feet – moves his, in turn: very slightly.

The candles on the walls flicker, burning in their erratic dances. The guards stand by on side. The prisoners glare out from the other. She ignores them: she can. His eyes drift in their direction. They are filthy and malnourished (starvation being their only means of rebellion), and spiteful of any who are met with release.

This is not a place for release. This is a place for punishment, for pain. To be released is to know the world is at its end. It is a time for public death. Except this one man who can barely walk, barely stand, and who betrayed the very village that is now releasing him to the world – a world that he fought to bring to its end so completely – once more.

The slight figure by his side, supporting him and changing her pace to match what he can manage, never allows her gaze to stray from his emaciated features. His cheeks are sallow. His lips are thin. His lips are white. His hands can barely feel the damp chill; never the sensation of touch, never the outer world. He looks ahead with eyes that see nothing more than shadows and nightmares.

~ . ~

At Home

~ . ~

She returns to him and crouches at his feet. He is sitting on a couch. A fire blazes opposite with brilliant luminosity. It deepens the gauntness of his face and skeletal body. The cloths seem as rags that hang off of him. He does not meet her gaze. He does not look away from the fire that he does not see. He does not move, does not react, does not think and does not feel.

Sighing, she rises up onto her kneels and leans forwards. Red is a colour that she vows determinedly to be rid of. The autumnal blanket is draped over his shoulders and knees until its ends touch the wooden floor.

She stays as she is for a moment. Her eyes do not stray yet. Her hands are weak and a chill have caught them. Yet, she yearns to touch his face.

The boy she knew, where has he gone?

~ . ~

Week One – Friday

~ . ~

He is sitting on a matching armchair in the same living room as before. He is sitting at an angle, awkwardly facing the fire to his right, yet far enough he has turned, to be able to see out of the window. The jutting space behind him allows for three windows. It is the small one – the one nearest to the left of the room – which he gazes sightlessly out through.

A small platter of snacks lies on the wooden table waiting to be touched. They are not solely for this broken man. There are guests, most of which have come, have left, have vowed not to return, not to see this broken man's saviour ever again.

She resides in the kitchen. A muted argument is tearing at the walls of the room in its utter fury. The destructive violence of the words sends something crashing. The resounding smash is not silenced, and cannot be ignored.

The broken man clutches at his ears suddenly. His jaw tenses, and his eyes widen exponentially. A sound catches in the back of his throat.

Knowing this, knowing his fragility, she runs. The doors fly open before her and swing to their close in relative quietness. She skids to a halt by him. Her hands clutch at his and she calls out his name. She cries out for response, for calmness. He is too far, too lost, too broken. She reaches for his face and cups his cheek in the offering of comfort.

Then, her eyes wander. She finds the one she was arguing with. His disapproval is painful. He turns, and the door is closed at long last.

Here, in this silence for all but this little man's whimpers and the crackling and hissing of the fireplace, she catches her own grief. She holds it in her hands and contemplates its immensity and the tears roll her face.

Still, she allows no emotion but the tears, and thus cannot speak to comfort, and knows that she failing.

~ . ~

Month One – End

~ . ~

He is sitting in a wooden chair. The world is bright and the breeze is cool. The flowers are wild in this garden. The wooden picket fence is low and many have paused to glare and shout of their devastating rage. They pass with mere words as blades and blades raised – some in threat, others in warning – and some more throw trash in.

Here, he blinks. The world is still at bay. He blinks. The colours are still dismal and grave. His longing has not subsided. He has not spoken a word of it to anyone.

His carer stares at him from within. She cannot go out but to place him there and lead him in. The fresh air is for his sake. It is not for her. It is never for her. She cannot breathe when out there with the voices and the glares and the filth. She cannot breathe in here with the knowledge of what lies in wait just beyond the door and windows and the oh-so-fragile walls.

She watches and she waits. He will awaken. He will. She was promised that he would. Her heart constricts, so ill at ease is she. Yet, he does not stir to her eyes. He is as motionless as when first brought from that all-consuming darkness.

~ . ~

Month Two – Median

~ . ~

He sits and stares and now a sound comes. It is so weak, so subdued. She wonders often if this is the man she had fought to bring back to life. He has not returned. He has come no closer than the first moment in that damp prison of most elite criminals.

She leans over and brushes the hair from his face. Her tired eyes shimmer with a veil of tears as she tries to smile. Her hand lingers a moment longer than necessary as she peers into him. Her wishes have yet to be answered. Her heart can barely stand this absence of visitors who are vying for her safety.

As she draws back, she almost laughs in bitterness. In trying to revive this most precious man she is losing herself. She sees her eyes grow dull. She feels her heart grow heavy. They see it too. They visit as often as possible. They offer what advice they are able to. They give her time to herself, time away from him.

She needs more. She needs to return to the ranks of the shinobi elite. She needs to walk the world beyond the village walls. She needs her comrades. That is what they fight for.

She sighs. She does not want to feed him today. She wants him to eat by himself. She cares not if it's by his hands or whether they are clean or not. She simply cannot bear for this to continue. She cannot be a guide to this blind man. She cannot be his salvation from the shadows.

Her cutlery is thrown down. The plate smashes and she takes sobbing breathes as she stumbles out from the room; unaware of the eyes following her every movement, unaware of the fear she has conjured, the distrust.

**Author's Note: This is a short story. A few chapters more – just a few, I swear on it. I cannot draw such a thing as this out forever. Nonetheless, I did have to speed through these most important of dates in order to give a taste for her ache and his suffering. The others should be different.**


	2. Dark Shadows

To You, To Me

Month Four – Week Two

~ . ~

The living room is swathed in shadows. Sasuke sits on his lonesome in the chair that has long been designated as his. He is alone in an empty house. The people beyond these weak walls despise him with a fierce passion. He is too numb to yet be concerned by that, but he does think of it. He thinks of how she has left without a word to him.

She hadn't promised to return. She hadn't given an approximation of when she would be back. She hasn't even looked at him in days. Was it weeks? He does not know. He is beginning not to care.

His hands tighten on the arms on the chair. In the shadows his memories return. These are not kind memories of good times or happiness. They are not even of a mild form of contentment. These are shadows darker than any absence of light could hope to emulate. These are shadows with voices and bursts of explosions, refracting light on silver and screams… Screams…

They are the most prevalent, the most detrimental. Here, in this onslaught of agony, on his lonesome, he _deals with it_. He copes. He learns how to. He teaches himself from the very beginning how to close those doors and open new ones to the light that he often wonders exists. He teaches himself to be rigid in body and in the face of the terror.

He closes his eyes and imagines that they are clear. He breaks down what barriers and blockades that he can. He has been doing so for a while, not simply today. Today is just a further time of aloneness that he intends to use to heal. She is barely here at times. She seems to avoid him as she avoids strong light.

He clenches his jaw. His thoughts are directed wholly within. He does not stop to think of other things because he cannot. He has not yet learned of the world beyond these gruesome shadows. He has not considered the plight or the urgency which could have stolen her away so swiftly from his side. He does not think of her loyalty, does not think of her as loyal.

She is neglectful, he may pause to think, only to continue with his struggle.

**Author's Note: There is a gradual decline that I hope to really showcase in these coming chapters. As I said before, these chapters shall not extend to a great number. However, I do think that there should be enough to come close to ten. Then again, I have been known for my inability to keep to chapter limits and deadlines. Such a procrastinator I am!**


	3. Of Exertions

To You, To Me

Month Six – Week Three

~ . ~

"He hates me."

Naruto's head snaps up. "He doesn't."

She tilts her head to the side. "He does. You know he does. _I_ know he does. I appreciate the effort, but you don't have to try and spare my feelings. I know."

He glances out through the open door. Ino's unabashed gossip fills the halls. He won't respond. They all know he won't. Sometimes it seems as if Ino prefers it like that.

He tries to hide how difficult it is to find the right words. "He does care about you. He cares about us. I mean, listen, he's not killing Ino. That means something."

"No, it doesn't," her eyes harden. "He's not here enough to move like that. Enough to listen, maybe, and enough to feel something for us, but that's all. That's it."

The glass in her hand quivers. The liquid splashes against the side like waves. Naruto takes the time to look at her and wonder where that girl he had so loved had gone. He has Hinata now, yes, but this girl… She still matters, is still precious.

He reaches out and takes her hand. "We're doing our best."

She watches him for a moment. "What about Sasuke? I can't leave him. I'm the one who fought to free him. I know you were very busy, I know you were away, but I fought. _I_ did. Sometimes I wish I hadn't. What am I becoming, Naruto? What's happening to me?"

The door opens before Naruto can protest and Ino sticks her head in. "I think someone wants a drink. Why don't you get him one, Naruto? He's been waiting to talk to you this last hour."

He frowns in utter disbelief, but obeys. The door swings closed behind him and Ino steps in front of it.

"Go to bed," she demands quietly. "You're tired. You're probably sore too and out of shape. I think the council might try to re-instate you, you know. I think they're planning a test of some sort."

She sighs, pushing the glass away distastefully. "I worry about him."

"And I worry about you!" Ino exclaims. "I know we're not here often. Take advantage of that. Go to bed. Please."

She nods slowly. "Wake me…" something flashes through her eyes and she changes her mind. "if the world ends…"

Ino rolls her eyes. "If the world ends it would be better to stay asleep."

As she leaves the room she glances out in the direction of the living room. She pauses. A small slit in the open door shows her Sasuke in his designated chair. His lifeless eyes seem to be staring back into hers but there is no kindness in their depths.

**Author's Note: Things will pick up from here. Some things had to be clarified, that's all.**


	4. Red Hot Heat

To You, To Me

Month Six – Week Four

~ . ~

"Hey, Sasuke," she crouches down in front of his chair. "How are you today? You look quite pale. Are you feeling all right?"

He turns his head ever so slightly in her direction. For a moment his eyes flicker to the fire. Then he turns back to the view from the window.

She takes his wrist gently. Her cool fingers come to rest on his pulse point. It's slow and steady with a calm rhythm. A small box lies next to her. Her stethoscope is in it. She has already listened to his breathing. She should check it again, but it feels somewhat pointless. Outwardly, he seems just as he was earlier.

"Sasuke," she tugs on his hand ever so gently. "Can you hear me?"

He doesn't even turn now.

"Oh, Sasuke…"

She sighs. Her legs tremble until she's reduced to her knees. Her forehead rests against the back of his hand. He's cool, possibly too cool. She doesn't want to check. She doesn't want to slave away at feeding him and trying to wean him off of things that he could well need for years to come. That's what the council wants.

What the council wants, the council gets. They hold her medical license. They had her removed from the ranks of shinobi. They would throw him back in if she fails. Then what would happen to her? What could they do to her?

A whimper catches in her throat. She squeezes her eyes shut. She takes a deep breath.

"Sasuke, are you hungry?" she stands abruptly and pulls a pole over from beside the fireplace.

A bag has been hooked to the top. The tube has already been inserted. The needle just needs to go into him. That's all she has to do.

She stares at his face. "Sasuke, come on. You can see me, right? You can hear me. You must be able to hear me! You- No… No, stop it. It's fine. It's fine. We can keep doing this. We can keep doing this."

Much like the slivers of flashing silver in his dark world, the needle refracts the crimson embers of the fire. The world opens for a moment. Its open long enough for him to see it, to sense the threat. He recoils into darker shadows and hopes that it's enough to keep him safe.


	5. Unseen Instants

To You, To Me

Month Seven – Week Two

~ . ~

The glass shatters into a trillion tiny shards. A red blotch quickly begins to spread over the floor. A door slams in the distance and she comes rushing into the room. Grabbing some towels that she keeps by in case he injures himself she crouches down to mop it up. As she does so, she glances up at him. He is still, unmoving.

The recent wrinkle between his brows is there once more. Of late, he has seemed in a state of perpetual deep thought. A ghost of a smile touches the corners of her lips. This is an improvement. It's an emotion of sorts. It's life. It's recognition of something, even if that something is only in his mind. It's hope.

She returns to mopping the floor. "Sasuke, can you hear me? How are you? Do you feel okay?"

The broken glass… The broken glass is more. It's a reaction. It's heat. He had to have been conscious of doing that on some level or another.

She winces, jerking back as a spot of blood leaks out from the tip of her fore finger. The sudden explosion of excitement wanes. This is not going to change all at once. Anger could be the next phase. It seemed that way before, when he had chased after Naruto and fought his brother… Before, when he chose to leave them all…

She tentatively reaches for the larger shards and deposits them onto the towels.

"Sasuke, can you hear me? I don't want to be annoyance, but if you can, please say something. Please do something. I need to know if you're all right before I leave to put these in the bin."

She falls back onto her haunches. For a long moment he is still. Then, slowly, just as she turns to leave, his eyes rove across the room before falling to her. There is no life in them and he shows no intention or notion to speak.

She pushes the towels away and walks over to the chair. "Sasuke…"

A minute later, his eyes rise to meet hers. Once more, there is nothing. He doesn't even recognise her. He looks away soon after, returning to the stillness of peering out of the window.

She tentatively reaches out and takes his hand in hers. "I'm here, Sasuke. I don't know if you remember, but I'm here. I'm waiting. I promised – no, _we_, Naruto and I – we promised to bring you back. I will. We will. We're both still trying."

His hand remains as limp as it had been when she first took it that day so long ago in the prison.

**Author's Note: I hope that you are having a good time reading this. I haven't really had as good a time as I would have hoped in all areas. It's still better than last year, though. For that reason alone, I hope that you have a good day today, or tomorrow, depending on the nearest full day available to you.**

**Thank you for reading.**


	6. Agonies of Difficulties

To You, To Me

Month Eight – Week Three

~ . ~

The sound of fire crackling is muted in the entrance hall. The sweeping gusts of angry winds drown out the speech of the two by the door to all other rooms. The uppermost beam of the doorframe drips still. A puddle swells around Naruto's feet. He hops uncomfortably from sodden foot to sodden foot.

"I told you," she reasons. "You don't have to do this. You don't have to fight for me. I'm better. I am, Naruto. Look at me. Do I look as haggard as I did last time? Do I? No, I don't. You know that."

"That was before _this_!" he throws his arms out. "It's still dripping! How can you say you're fine? How can you say you're better? They _vandalised_ your house! They vandalised your house while you were inside!"

"Those are grieving people, Naruto," she spoke with a little more strength than he had grown used to from her. "They have every right to hate him. They have every right to hate me. They thought justice had been done when he was imprisoned. I released him, Naruto. Those families have been torn apart and I'm healing and helping the murderer. It's not justice. It's wrong."

He glowers defensively. "He didn't choose his life."

She steps to the right so keep him from entering. Her hands press firmly against the doorframe.

"He is a murderer," she speaks slowly. "They are victims. I love him, Naruto. I do, but I'm not to going to make excuses for him or pretend that he didn't go; that he didn't hurt us. Don't make me argue with you when everyone else is busy."

He opens his mouth to protest or to defend Sasuke.

"I think…" her voice loses some of its sudden brazen strength that he had so missed. "Please go home, Naruto. Please leave. I'm fine. Aren't you happy? He's fine. You've checked up on us. You've done your bit."

His eyes flash desperately. "But Sasuke-"

She slams the door. The echo reverberates through every room on the ground floor. Its ghost sounds in the living room where the murmur of breathes have turned to silence.

She sits with her back to the door. Her hands are fisted in her hair. She breathes deep, ragged, gasping breaths. With wide eyes she peers without seeing. The deep, concrete terror slithers around her heart, constricting as it goes with malicious glee.

She has to compose herself, she knows. She has to be bright to the cruel world outside that she has been thinking twice lately of venturing in to.

She is blind to what lies beyond her crumbling composure, but he is not.

**Author's Note: I would be locking myself in if a mob vandalised my house.**

**Ah~ I apologise, I am simply terrible when it comes to happiness and glee. My depressing little mind is house and home to drear tales and the weaving together of woeful words. I suppose that might explain '**_**The Fault in Dying**_**', but I do not pretend to be anywhere near such intellect.**

**I am sorry also for not responding yet to those of you who have reviewed. I would say that I have been (and while that is true) I am Queen of Procrastination and have alerts from three years ago still to be responded to. I should respond to yours sooner than that. I do appreciate the time you spare to leave me reviews. I do. I do appreciate them far more than I think any of you shall ever realise.**


	7. Near Enough to Touch

To You, To Me

Month Nine – Week One

~ . ~

His fingers curl on the arms on his chair. Darkness flickers in the endless depths of his eyes. The shadows are receding, as always they have been. Only now can it be seen by the world outside of his now delicate mindscape. She, however, does not see.

She sits opposite him at times, eyes staring into a distance that no one else knows exists. Oftentimes, she is away, keeping herself willingly from his side. A glass of water is usually at hand. An old journal has recently been at the other.

At this moment, she has her back turned. A small tray is sitting on a small table near the door. She has made no real effort to have him eat and drink on his own for a while. The guilt weighs on her mind, as does a million other thoughts. She pushes the straw away at last. He can't choke to death.

The vandalising has continued. In fact, the hour so usually dependable for the assault is almost upon them. There are no stores willing to serve her (though she is grateful to have been served for so long), lest they be boycotted by all others. The hospital has now seemingly deserted them: no news has come of theories; no requests have been made for progress updates; no more medicine is sent to the house. Those in power in Konoha have turned sinisterly silent.

Her hands tremble as she carries the tray over. The water in the glass is nearly nothing but ripples and small waves.

"How are you today?" she beams with false cheer. "You look a little less pale, Sasuke. That's good. I guess that stuff really did work…"

She places it down on the floor close to his feet. A small plate (fitting in size for a child) is chosen alongside a plastic spoon. She holds it up to him.

"Sasuke, are you hungry?" she holds her composure. "You haven't eaten in a long time. The injections are only for nutrition. Don't you feel that? Doesn't your stomach want food? It would be really good if you could have some. One spoonful, even, would be fantastic. Come on. Please."

His lips part slightly. She sighs loudly in relief. The food itself is too large to pass through but a little of the sauce does. He doesn't move further. His stare still remains worlds away. She sits back on her haunches, spoon and plate now resting on her knees. Her cheer feels suddenly more real.

"Thank you, Sasuke," her eyes feel suddenly moist. "Thank you. Thanks from me. Thanks from you. I'm sure."

She hurriedly puts the plate and spoon back down and takes his hands in her own. He isn't too cold and the room is quite warm. Weak with relief, she leans her forehead against his knees. The moisture has turned to tears.

He's coming home.

**Author's Note: I have become rather intermittent, I am afraid. However, no fear! I have some news. Perhaps it's good, perhaps not. It depends on your thoughts. I am going to have to throw my original plans out of the window. Why? I underestimated the chapters. Thus, there should be eleven at minimum. I think…**

**I hope that you enjoyed this story thus far and this chapter. This could well be my last chapter of **_**To You, To Me**_** for this year! I wish you all the greatest fortune in your next year. May you learn, grow, find yourselves and others and may you look back in the years to come and see it all as valuable and cherished.**


	8. Walk into the Light

To You, To Me

Month Eleven – Week Two

~ . ~

Sasuke winces as she injects the nutritional supplement (his last for the week). He has yet to truly see that he's not alone. Sometimes she thinks that he watches her. Sometimes she thinks that he sees her. She's never sure. The questions circle tauntingly. She can't ask. He hasn't spoken yet. The sudden rush of glee has faded. Its gloried edges have become hazy but its warmth and hope are still prevalent.

"I'm sorry," she says. "I won't hurt you again."

A twinge of guilt pricks at her heart. In truth, she's delighted that he reacted.

The last of the fluid vanishes and she removes the syringe and dabs at the crook of his elbow gently. A nervous flicker of her eyes returns her to the small tray sitting next to her. Here lies another needle. This one is for blood samples. The lack of response from the hospital has led her to somewhat neglect the task of taking blood. The recent difficulty that she has had in locating the vein has played its part too.

She drops the syringe distastefully and pushes the tray away. There isn't a doubt in her mind that the council are still watching her. They probably have an entire file of assumptions as to why she hasn't been in contact with the hospital. She turns her back to it. They can wait.

She offers him a smile. "Are you hungry? I've got some vegetable soup. It's been mashed so there aren't any bits that you could choke on."

He blinks slowly. A faint sound rises that's much like a groan. She's up at his instantly, her hands turning his face gently in her direction.

"Sasuke…" she whispers. "Sasuke… Can you hear me? Can you see me?"

He blinks slowly once more. The blankness is still there, but different. She peers into his eyes but he shows no other sign of life. His gaze lowers as if exhausted and on the brink of sleep so he draws him closer and holds him tight.

The excitement, the concern, the racing of her heart swirls inside of her relentlessly. He felt so close. A tear or two slips silently down. She doesn't know why.

The door creaks. "Hey, what's happening?"

She glances up at her blond friend's panic stricken face with a strange smile. "He's coming home."

**Author's Note: I'm sorry about my departure. I've been busy and procrastinating in equal measure. That and it seems that I've made a New Year's Resolution of working myself into a panic attack. The end of my high school gap year, academics, publishing, five sewing projects – **_**big**_** sewing projects at that – perhaps a trip to China, three blogs, starting a Ren'py project, filming a mini movie, archery, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera… There's too much that I want to do. Being a procrastinator every part of me is fighting and kicking. Don't worry, I will finish this. It shouldn't take years for an update.**


	9. Wake Up!

To You, To Me

Month Twelve – Week Three

~ . ~

She staggers out of the living room backwards. Ino's hands are firmly on her shoulders, pushing her out of the room. Naruto is left to administer Sasuke's treatment despite his numerous protests and lack of medical knowledge.

"What were you doing?" she demands on the very matter which has led to this. "He's a patient, Ino! You're not meant to swing his arms about like a monkey!"

Her back _thunks_ against the wall. Ino's hands have caught both of her wrists.

"When was the last time you sat him out in the garden?" she demands. "When was the last time you helped him up the stairs? Or do you just leave him to sleep on his chair?"

"Of course I don't!" she exclaims, horrified by the notion. "I teleport us both up and-! No! Why are you asking? What does this have to do with you?"

"He walked," Ino snaps. "He walked out of his prison. He walked all the way here. He walked up to this chair and then nothing! You stopped letting him out! You stopped walking him up to his room every night! You aren't even in touch with the hospital anymore!"

"I did!" she whispers. "I did… I had to… It was me, _just_ me. You don't know how hard that was. Every day I tried, I did everything for him. I did _everything_, Ino, and all on my own. They hated me. They still vandalise this house. They still won't let me into shops-"

Ino steps back. "He walked out prison. Aren't you listening to me? He did that. He could walk. He was responding. Then you stopped walking him upstairs. You stopped letting him out to get fresh air. Can you honestly tell me that he wasn't affected by that? Can you tell me that you're not the reason why he's gotten worse?"

A heavy silence falls upon them; catches them; binds them. The clattering of objects next door rises quickly to take its place. It can't release them.

"Why would you say that?" she gapes. "Why are you saying these things?"

She shakes her head. "I should have known. You're denying it, just like you always have been, but what are you going to do, hmm? You haven't grown up at all. Your whole life revolved around him. Your life still revolves around him! Do you think he's going to stay here if he gets better? Do you think you can spend the rest of your days looking after him? If he doesn't improve you'll go insane, if he does, he'll walk away. Even if he lives next door what are you going to spend your day doing? You need this. You need him.

"He's like this because his brother told him the truth moments before he died – moments before he died from the wounds _Sasuke_ inflicted. His world revolves around the loss of his family. It did then and it does now. The last memory that he can access of you is when you were fighting his every attempt at vengeance. Do you think he's going to see your actions as that of a friend? Do you think he won't question why you tried to stop him? You're either going to be a nuisance or someone who let him kill his brother."

She hugs herself. Her sad eyes dart from side to side, as if she can find an answer written in the air. She can't. Her throat burns with the need to say something, to deny it.

A hand tugs at her sleeve, yanking her from her thoughts.

"I'm your friend," Ino says softly. "And you're still in love with that boy that we fought over. He's dead. That boy was dead long before either of us knew that he even existed. Everything you've done is for someone who can't come back. You accept it. In your mind and in your words, you accept it. When he wakes up, when he looks at you, you're going to wake up as well. Will you be able to forgive him for your misconceptions?"

**Author's Note: Do you hate me for this? Ah~ It is fascinating how stories evolve. I was going to go down an equally 'troublesome' route in the beginning. This seems far more appropriate for the current form of the story. We all need to hone in on the characters from time to time. I think this is a good place for that. Also, yes, I know. I am terrible at happiness or even contentedness. Misery is my talent - if you can call it that. I have had this planned out for a while so if you do hate it... It's been rushing at you like a bullet for a good few chapters now. You were bound to feel the impact sooner or later.**


	10. The Shadow Hurts

To You, To Me

Month Fourteen – Week One

~ . ~

"How are you today?"

He makes no sound, no move to indicate whether he has heard or not. He just has. A smile spreads across her face. How very like he used to be. She's learning to read his silence like she used to. It isn't the same but there are patterns she has begun to follow. They seem correct thus far.

It isn't an understanding that she can explain.

She crouches down by the arm of the chair. Her chin is resting on her left hand. He blinks once. His distant eyes begin to glance away as if irritated by her staring. She laughs.

"Don't worry. I'm not scary," she takes his hand gently. "Let's try another walk, okay? Maybe we can reach the couch."

She gives a gentle tug and he leans forward. It's all that he can do so she slips an arm around his back and hauls him to his unsteady feet. He stumbles forward immediately. Her right hand quickly clasps his left shoulder. He leans into her instinctively.

"You have no idea how thankful I'm going to be when you lose a bit of weight," she remarks. "Okay, Sasuke, listen to me. I know you can now. I'm not going to forget it. On the count of three, we'll go. One… Two… Three!"

He doesn't move at all. A quick squeal of surprise is emitted before she does her utmost to keep him upright. She grits her teeth as he tries to straighten by leaning back. Her eyes fix on his chair. The option of dropping him if he goes too far back comes to mind – it always does.

His response to her suggestion of 'walking' has often succeeded somewhat. She hisses as he steps on her toes. Sometimes she thinks he acts like this on purpose. That part of her is alive now. What other form of entertainment has he? She lowers him back into the chair.

Without checking if he's entirely comfortable, she steps back with her hands on her hips. "You know three. You did it last time. I get it, though, I do. You could have forgotten. Maybe you're a little bit worse than yesterday. Maybe you're just bored," the reflection of the clock in the window catches her eye. She groans loudly. "I'll go get you a drink. Behave while I'm gone."

She leaves the living room door open as she goes. He has tried at times of distraction to move or get comfortable and has ended up on the floor more a few times. _Three_, she corrects herself, _three times I had to pick him up_. While the prospect of running around after him is more often than not testing, she does admit that she's rather unsure of herself when their friends come around to take over for a few hours.

She closes the fridge and makes her way quickly back. As she reaches the door she comes to a sudden halt.

Sasuke's eyes suggest a sort of half awareness of what is happening and where he is. They contain an expression of mild distaste and utter confusion. One hand is at his arm where he fell out of the chair last time. Undoubtedly, there is a sting of pain. Weak from lack of movement and use, he has bruised more easily than most. This is the first acknowledgement that he has made of it though.

She reaches out a hand but pauses. Then, slowly, she lowers her arm. Who to tell first?

**Author's Note: Another chapter draws to a close. Our time is waning. Somehow I think I've become quite attached to this one. Well, no, that isn't. I love them all… I suppose. This one is sticking with me. Perhaps I should give this genre more thought. I still find it unusual. I expect that of Xian Ji****à****n or G****ǔ Jiàn. Not Naruto. Never, never, never did I ever think Naruto. I suppose it's sort of bittersweet.**

**You can probably tell that I'm not quite sure what to use this space for. Ah... At least there's j****ust two or three more to go ramblings to go!**


	11. Foundation

To You, To Me

Month Sixteen – Week Two

~ . ~

He glares, unintentionally wrinkling his nose slightly in disgust.

"Sit," she smiles, almost smugly. "You're just going to have to get used to this. I can't walk you back and forth every day."

A grumbling sound rises from his throat. It's the closest he's come to speaking yet. He nudges her in the ribcage: a clear sign of his dissent. She moves him onwards regardless. He does so again.

"I could leave you right here," she threatens. "I could put you down and open that front door. It's cold outside, Sasuke. Winter's here. Anyone could get in too. You're not exactly popular here, you know."

She doesn't quite know what he knows yet. The extent of his outward emotions has ranged from irritation with her, with himself and with anyone who comes close. He seems capable of very little. His chakra resources have been exceedingly low too. He's almost just a very ill civilian. She supposes that that might be the source of the small scratches that sometimes appear on his palms.

She turns him and he very indiscreetly steps on her toes. She winces, hissing slightly in anger. Then she lowers him none too gently into the wheelchair.

"Your legs are progressing well. I'll expect you to walk for a while each day," she warns: a hand placed sternly on her hip. "I'm still going to help you do that. Don't think you can be lazy. I'm still going to take you up the stairs. If there's anything that you need, then ring the bell… once Naruto delivers it… You can still sit in your chair if you want, but you'll be joining me in the kitchen for meals from now on."

The sound of a banging door comes from the kitchen. Wary of it being an intruder or information about the suspiciously silent council, she hurries from the hall.

On his own, Sasuke glances at the sides of his wheelchair. Slowly, he reaches out and slips his hands over the sides. The smooth rubber of the outside of the wheels feels soft against his fingers. He reaches further down and feels the spokes.

Glancing up to ensure that she hasn't yet returned he pushes against the arms of the wheelchair in a bid to rise. Pain erupts in his hands, warping around his wrists and shooting up his arms. A scuffling noise ceases his efforts. He glowers. While many facets of the past remain to be clarified (or even touched) he knows he cannot be still. He has to move. He can't stop. He has to… do something. What that is exactly evades him, much to his annoyance.

A voice rings out. Footfalls sound. He draws his pained arms slowly back down onto his lap. Every day… Every day he has done what he could. The days where the pains are unbearable, where the he can't move, those are the days he hates the most. Another is coming. He can feel it in every strained, pulled and knotted muscle.

Naruto bounds out with a wide grin. "Hey, cool wheelchair!"

"I wish he thought the same," she comments, staying in the doorway. A suspicious glint is in her eyes. "Don't worry, Naruto. He'll get used to it. Maybe he'll even share your opinion soon."

**Author's Note: I was going to save this for the last chapter. Then I realised that the note would possibly be longer than the content. So I'm going to just say it. Er, write it? I got my definition for the 'attempt to push himself up' from my own fantastically failed attempts – though heightened for drama. I can't even walk up the stairs (14 steps – I have to count every time) without wheezing at the top. Just over four years of C.F.S will do that to a person. Unfortunately, my knowledge of his 'condition' goes only so far as how unfit I am. His mental state is just something that I had to guess. I like it though, so I'll keep it. Except for the constant want to move; I've woken up more than once completely paralysed with pain. It's a tad annoying but doesn't last long. My point is, it's knowledge in me. I'm generally not good a story teller.**


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